


Bad

by etherimaginary



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Self Harm, i don't know where this came from, mentions of abuse, uh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 12:37:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7315492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherimaginary/pseuds/etherimaginary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He just wanted to be better. He just wanted to fix himself, just enough until Chanyeol got home, whenever that may be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad

**Author's Note:**

> Have you guys caught on to the fact that if I'm too lazy to think of a summary I just use one of the lines from the story? lmao  
> I was thinking of writing a fic that didn't have like... you know... suffering in it, but decided against it. I usually use just how much approval my other fics get to decided what to write next. I was thinking of doing another one like Exxus, but instead it would be Jong2min. Who knows.  
> Also I still lowkey want to do a serial killer au. I asked tumblr if they'd prefer Kyungsoo or Kai to be the killer, and with a terrific outcome of one person voting, decided that it will probably be Kyungsoo. But I have no idea when I'm going to start it, and whether it will be live or not (mayyybe not, since IOFT and FYLA weren't and they got a better response than requiem, which was? idk)  
> anyways  
> Enjoy~

Love was an odd thing. To Baekhyun, it consisted not of the butterflies and ooey gooey kisses he had grown up watching on the television, but rather of band aids and apologies, of cocoa butter scars and the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. Love was what had him coming home every night, even if his hands shook enough that he had to try multiple times to get the key in the lock, even if his breath was the only sound he made, and yet still too loud in the hungry silence. He asked himself, on occasion, if what he was doing was right, if it was healthy. Because Baekhyun knew that he was to blame for the isles of bruises creeping across his skin, because Baekhyun was the one in the wrong, the one who needed to be taught. And oh, what beautifully torturous lessons they were. 

He supposed it wasn’t fair to Chanyeol, how often Baekhyun doubted their relationship. The thoughts hung over him like guillotines, no matter how quickly they were dismissed. Baekhyun couldn’t leave, he knew that. He loved Chanyeol. He had the scars to prove it. His love, and the fear that was laced within it, held him tightly; tightly against Chanyeol’s chest deep in the night, tightly in the days when his office work was too dull to keep his mind occupied. And though he didn’t deserve the love he received, he knew he deserved the pain that came with it. It was only fair; every relationship needed compromise, communication. It wasn’t Chanyeol’s fault that he spoke in blood and bruises, that his once sugar kisses had melted away to reveal the beast that existed today. If anything, it was Baekhyun’s fault; he hadn’t been good enough, loyal enough, kind enough. He hadn’t been enough. Chanyeol was simply trying to correct him. It was why Baekhyun knew he cared, even if he said he didn’t.

Chanyeol was easiest to read through puffy eyes, easiest to hold with trembling hands. He showed his love subtly, buried under threats and swears. Because he never touched anywhere that would be visible, because he always took his rings off first, because the same hands that choked Baekhyun would hold his sobbing body gently throughout the night, and the fingers that once broke skin and dug into flesh would slowly run through Baekhyun’s hair, lulling him to sleep in a way only Chanyeol knew how to do. Lather, rinse, repeat.

The nights when Chanyeol was home was hard. The nights he wasn’t were harder. Baekhyun let himself into their shared apartment, not daring to make a sound out of habit alone. He walked straight past the kitchen, ignoring his rumbling stomach and heading straight to the bathroom down the hallway. He had been bad today. He was always bad when he got paid, the numbers stirring up disobedience in a small part of him that he had yet to tame. The digits reminded him that he could survive on his own; that there could be a life without Chanyeol, and it had taken exactly seven minutes and forty six seconds before he banished the thoughts from his mind. He could survive, yes, but he could never live without Chanyeol. He would hate himself for leaving, especially when Chanyeol had always had his best interests in mind. On any other day he would have gushed his wrong doings, accepting whatever punishment he deserved from them, but tonight Chanyeol wasn’t home. Maybe he was off in an important meeting; maybe he just didn’t want to come home to the disaster that was slowly brewing, whatever the reason Baekhyun knew he had to take things into his own hands. 

Baekhyun pushed the door closed, waiting until he heard the faint _click_ from within the wood before removing his hands. They were shaking, fingers cold as he clenched and unclenched his fists. He eyed himself in the mirror, hating what he saw. His hair was disheveled from countless tousling wrought from anxiety, and his eyes were beginning to go red, glassy through the tears that had yet to form. He was a mess, a scattered puzzle that only Chanyeol knew how to put back together. Deep, shaky breaths were all that stirred the silence as Baekhyun pulled one of the drawers of the cabinet open, caution muffling the sounds of the wood. It was perfectly organized; Chanyeol hated mess. He disturbed it as little as he could, gently removing the toothpaste and half empty bottles of facial toner until his fingers closed around a small box, the faces worn and edges tattered. Baekhyun eyed himself in the mirror as he toyed with the box, allowing the first tear to slip from his lashes, falling soundlessly onto the counter below.  
Bad. Baekhyun had been bad. He was been stupid and unloyal, selfish and faithless and bad and bad and _bad_.

He just wanted to be better. He just wanted to fix himself, just enough until Chanyeol got home, whenever that may be.

The razor shone dully against the fluorescent lights of the bathroom, no trace of past uses on its mirror blade. They were left only on Baekhyun’s skin, faded into faint pink lines, crisscrossing his arms and sneaking up his thighs. They were old, often going unnoticed even without the dab of concealer Baekhyun insisted he applied every morning. 

Pulling off his work pants, Baekhyun looked down at his legs, his face contorted with disgust. This was where the deeper ones went, his thighs marked with countless breakdowns, countless corrections to a body he knew only Chanyeol could love. He pressed the tip of the blade against his skin, waiting for the give of the flesh until it finally broke through. He watched the blood well around the metal, gasping as his hand tugged it further along, little by little, until there was a steady flow of liquid dripping onto the floor. He lifted the blade from his skin, admiring his work through tear rimmed eyes. It throbbed painfully in time with his heart, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t hurt enough, wasn’t punishing enough, wasn’t good enough to fix the bad in him. It simply wasn’t _enough_.

A second stream of blood joined the first, the incisions centimeters apart. This one was deeper, and Baekhyun choked, gripping the counter until his hand ached, no more so than the slices on his thigh. His throat burned, teeth clenched in frustration. He eyed the other thigh, holding tightly onto the blade until drops of wetness formed beneath his fingertips. Baekhyun sank to the floor, not caring about the pool of blood soaking into his clothes. His free hand gripped his leg harshly as he dug the blade into the untouched flesh, hissing at the sensation yet welcoming it all the same. 

It was only fair, really, for the pain in his body to match the pain in his heart. He didn’t want to think about what he had done. He didn’t want to imagine a life without Chanyeol, a life in which he was sure to be left in pieces. He wanted to be good, to be worthy of the love Chanyeol gave him, to right his wrongs, even if he was the sacrificed offered. It was worth it. Chanyeol was worth it.

His hands, his clothes, his everything, were bloodied by the time the door swung open. The substance coated Baekhyun’s legs, congealing on the floor and smeared across his face. Baekhyun knew he looked like a mess, hair sticking up in every direction, tear tracks diluting the blood on his cheeks, his body shaking as the wounds slowly clotted. Even so, he looked up with hope in his eyes, his heart swelling at the sight of his lover in the doorway. 

“Baekhyun.” Chanyeol’s voice was flat, his face holding confusion and disappointment. “What have you done?”

Baekhyun reached out a trembling hand, strings of half-dried blood stretching between his fingers. Because he knew that it was not his current state that had been referenced, but rather what he had done to deserve it. “Chanyeol, I’ve been bad.” It was torture to choke out the words, to say his wrongdoings out loud, to speak his behavior into existence. But Baekhyun knew he had to. There was nothing he wanted to hide from Chanyeol, even if it meant he would be punished. It was, after all, the only way he could get better, the only way he would be once more deserving of love. Because Baekhyun would give his body for Chanyeol’s mere presence, for his approval. He had proved it many times over. Chanyeol reached out to grasp Baekhyun’s outstretched hand, frowning in confusion when a small piece of metal was dropped in it instead. Even through the coating of blood he could recognize the blade, the square edges no less sharp than the first time he had caught Baekhyun with it. “Please.” Baekhyun looked up at him with puffy red eyes, desperation overshadowing the lingering fear held within them. “Please fix me. Make me all better. Make me good again.”

Chanyeol looked from his hand to Baekhyun’s face and back again, his lips tugging up in the corners. There was something held within his eyes, something dark and terrifying, something Baekhyun had seen countless times before. He had waited for it, prepared for it, but it still shrunk him, loomed over his trembling body with black promises and tainted anticipation. 

“Of course,” Chanyeol’s voice was barely a breath as he inched into the bathroom, feeling the wetness at his feet and grinning because of it. “Don’t worry Baek, I’ll make you better.” He swung the door closed, the hinges squeaking in knowing assumption. “I’ll make sure you won’t be bad again.”

The door clicked shut. It muffled the sobs, the screams. It snuffed out the bad and left only the good, the bloodied, the punished, the pained. 

After all, for Baekhyun, they were one and the same.


End file.
